My mother has a new lover, he says.
Uncle Ibekwe is telling his kinsmen, with brazen grandiloquence, that he saw a man leaving our house two nights ago.
Yes, a man actually left our house two nights ago. Half running and half walking. He left with his penis in his mouth. I liked it. Except for the fact that the man was Uncle Ibekwe.
He had come to inherit his late brother’s property – my mother. The Lioness had thrown him and his miserable potbelly out.
Uncle Ibekwe, like most of his kinsmen, doesn’t give up easily. If my mother doesn’t want him, then she must be seeing someone else. My mother must admit it. A man has been coming and going. He is sure.
I’m peeping from my window. They are seated at the balcony. The Lioness has refused them entrance into the house neither has she deemed it fit to join them.
I hate people who lie. I think of this as I stare at the well sharpened machete lying beside my bed, waiting to be asigned a mission. I hate liars. I wait patiently for the night. It will surely come. Uncle Ibekwe will surely come with it. My father would be happy to see him in the after life.
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